Amber and Ashes - Margaret Weis [98]
“They have always been, my lord,” she said, shivering in his embrace.
Darkness closed over Chemosh, enfolded him and surrounded her, carried them both to a deeper, thicker, warmer darkness, lit with the single candle flame of ecstasy.
“And will always be.”
Chemosh returned to the Abyss to find it dark and dreary. He had no one but himself to blame. He could have lit the Abyss bright as heaven, filled it with chandeliers and candelabra, glowing lamps, and glimmering lanterns. He could have peopled it, furnished it, added song and dance. In eons past he had done so. Not now. He loathed his dwelling place too much to try to change it. He wanted, needed, to be among the living. And now was the time to start to put his plan to gain his heart’s desire into action.
He waited impatiently for Krell and was pleased to hear at last the clank and rattle of the death knight, clumping his way through the Abyss, making heavy going of it, as though he were slogging through the thick mud of a battle field. His eyes were two pinpoints of red. Small and set close together, they reminded Chemosh of the eyes of a demonic pig.
Longing for something better to look upon, Chemosh shifted his gaze to Mina. She was dressed in black, a silken gown that flowed over the curves of her body like the touch of his hands. Her breasts rose and fell with her breathing. He could see the faint quiver of the pulse of life beating in the hollow of her throat. He suddenly wished Krell a thousand miles away, but he could not indulge himself, not yet.
“So, Krell, here you are at last,” said Chemosh briskly. “Sorry to call you away from slaughtering gully dwarves or whatever it was you found to amuse yourself, but I have a task for you.”
“I was not slaughtering gully dwarves,” returned Krell sullenly. “There’s no pleasure in that, no fight in the little beasts. They simply squeal like rabbits and then fall down and piss themselves.”
“It was a jest, Krell. Were you always this stupid or did death have a bad effect on you?”
“I was never one for jests, my lord,” said Krell, adding stiffly, “And you should know where I was. It was you who sent me. I was following your orders, bringing new recruits to you.”
“Indeed?” Chemosh put the tips of his fingers together, tapped them gently. “And is that going well?”
“Very well, my lord.” Krell rocked back on his heels, pleased with himself. “I think you will find my recruits far more satisfactory than others.”
He cast a glance at Mina. She had rescued him, freed him from the tormenting goddess and his rock-bound prison, but he hated her, for all that.
“At least my recruits are trustworthy,” Mina returned. “They aren’t likely to betray their master.”
Krell clenched his fists and took a step toward her.
Mina rose from her chair to face him. Her skin was pale, her eyes glinting gold. She was fearless, beautiful in her courage, radiant in her anger. Chemosh allowed himself a moment’s pleasure, then wrenched himself back to business.
“Mina, I think you should leave us.”
Mina cast a distrustful glance at Krell. “My lord, I do not like—”
“Mina,” Chemosh said. “I gave you an order. I told you to leave.”
Mina seemed inclined to argue. One glance at the god’s dark and glowering face, however, and she subsided. She gathered up her long skirts and departed.
“You need to keep her in line,” Krell advised. “She’s getting a bit above herself. As bad as a wife. You should just kill her. She’d be less trouble dead than alive.”
Chemosh rounded on the knight. The light in the eyes of the god was fell, a light darker than the darkness. What little there was left of the death knight shriveled up inside his armor.
“Do not forget that you are mine now, Krell,” said Chemosh softly, “and that, with a flick of my finger, I can reduce you to a pile of bird droppings.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Krell, subdued. “Sorry, my lord.”
Chemosh summoned a chair, summoned another chair, summoned a table, and placed it